Chapter 8

8

Dr. Jordan was scheduled to return and appraise Issie’s progress the next afternoon, so Bella refused an invitation to drive in Hyde Park with Lord Brooke, and took a great deal of pleasure in explaining to him the reason why. But as she was supposed to see him that evening at dinner, he was not too disappointed to learn that she was spending the afternoon with Dr. Marvelous.

Issie had improved so much that it seemed unnecessary for the doctor to come to her bedchamber; she was no longer so weak she needed to lie in bed for her examination and was perfectly capable of meeting him in the drawing room. However, she was hesitant to do so.

“What if Aunt Lucretia comes in while he’s there?” Issie asked, and Bella acknowledged that such a scenario would not be pleasant. It wasn’t that they still feared Lady Dutton would discover their true identities, but rather that if Issie met with the doctor in Aunt Lucretia’s presence she would make things exceedingly awkward, and might berate Issie for calling in a doctor at all.

Therefore, Issie and Bella decided to have him come up to Issie’s room, as he had for past visits. Issie was wearing another of her new dresses (salvaged from Bella’s closet before she’d altered it), this one a dusky rose color, and Bella had applied a little rouge to her cheeks and lips, even though she hardly needed it, as her color had improved a great deal and she no longer appeared deathly pale. In fact, Bella later wondered if instead of rouge they should have applied rice powder.

Because, instead of smiling at the sight that greeted him when he entered—and Issie was such a fresh, pretty sight her appearance would have brought delight to just about anyone—Dr. Jordan scowled at her.

“Why are you in bed?” he asked.

“Well, I—because I knew you were coming,” Issie stuttered, her expectant smile fading.

“I hope that I didn’t give you the impression I wanted you to wait for me in bed,” the doctor said, and then turned bright red, as if it suddenly occurred to him how horribly his words could be misconstrued.

Bella turned a smothered laugh into a cough, and since Issie merely looked confused, she decided she had better intervene. “We apologize, Doctor. We were unsure where you would prefer to examine my cousin, which is the reason she’s in bed in the middle of the afternoon. But she has been following your prescription to the letter and does not take to her bed during daylight hours any longer. She’s been very diligent, and I think you will be very pleased with her progress.”

The doctor, his color still heightened, nodded and murmured, “Yes, she is looking very well. Almost too well.” Both Bella and Issie hoped he wasn’t referring to the rouge when he made that remark. “Have you been experiencing any more heart palpitations?”

“Not very often,” Issie answered a little hesitantly, and Bella wondered if perhaps she was having them at that very moment. Especially as the doctor drew closer to her bedside and, as he had on his first visit, leaned down to put his head against her chest and listen to her heart.

“Please cough,” he said.

And Issie, who had tightly shut her eyes, obediently gave a little cough. She still had her eyes closed when Dr. Jordan removed his head from her chest.

“You needn’t close your eyes,” he told her. But when Issie opened them the doctor’s face was still uncomfortably close to her own, and Bella thought she probably wanted to shut them again.

“Have you been experiencing any more weakness or trembling in your extremities?” he asked.

“No,” said Issie, in an uncertain tone that seemed to contradict her denial. Especially when she clasped her hands together as if to still their trembling.

The doctor stepped a few feet away and turned to address Bella. “She’s been taking regular exercise?”

“She walks the stairs at least twice a day, and we’ve also gone on other outings. We went for a walk in Hyde Park two days ago.”

“And you’ve been eating beefsteak?” he asked, turning to look at Issie again.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Since you insisted, yes. I am not very fond of it, however.”

“I am sorry you dislike the taste, but it’s been just a little over a week and I can already see an improvement,” the doctor said, his glance darting over Issie’s figure in a professional appraisal. If he admired what he saw, his expression did not reveal it. His eyes returned to her face and he gave a quick nod. “Well, Miss Grant, while it’s too early to say if you are fully recovered, and your heart rate is still slightly more accelerated than I could wish, you have made a most remarkable improvement since I first visited you. I am very pleased with your progress.”

He smiled at Issie at the conclusion of this speech, and she returned his smile, happy to receive even such mild praise for her efforts. But at his next words her smile disappeared. Turning to include Bella in his remarks, he said: “It has been a pleasure meeting both of you ladies. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in town.”

“What do you mean?” Issie asked, her voice rising. “Surely you will visit me again?”

He shook his head. “There is no need. If you continue on your current regimen you will soon be fitter than the majority of ladies in London. Unless, that is, you are experiencing some other symptoms that you neglected to tell me about.”

“Well—” Issie began, but Bella shook her head at her behind the doctor’s back. She did not want Issie inventing illnesses in order to see Dr. Jordan again.

“What my cousin is trying to say, Doctor, is that, while she may not need to see you again in a professional capacity, we enjoyed our time with you at the Royal Academy and would be pleased if you would accept another invitation. Perhaps to the theatre to see one of the plays you and my cousin are so fond of quoting. Or you and Miss Grant could finally visit Ackermann’s, as you had initially planned.”

Dr. Jordan looked slightly unsure, but then turned to look at Issie. “Is that something you would enjoy, Miss Grant?”

“More than anything,” she said, her heart in her eyes.

“Then I would be very pleased to accompany you,” he said. And he smiled at Issie in a manner that did not seem strictly professional.

Bella and Lady Dutton had been invited to a private dinner that evening at the house of a society matron, Lady Amelia Clayton, who had launched her own daughter that season. Bella was surprised that she had been invited, as she was not at all friendly with Miss Clayton. (Although it was actually Miss Clayton who had turned up her snub nose at Bella, because Bella was willing to be friends with just about anyone.) The mystery of her invitation was solved when Sir Roger told Bella that Lady Amelia had gotten the other gentlemen to attend by promising that Lady Belle would be there.

At first, Bella had reason to be thankful for her false identity, because if she’d been attending as lowly Miss Grant, she would have been seated below the salt with the other hangers-on and the octogenarian who kept falling asleep over his dinner. After her experience of having a relative suddenly drop dead, Bella was concerned a few times that this gentleman was not merely napping, but taking his eternal rest, and was relieved when Mr. Peckham, who was seated not too far from him, poked him and woke him up.

Because of her high rank as “Lady Isabelle,” she’d been seated next to Lord Brooke, who would have been the dinner partner she’d have chosen if given the choice. However, the dinner still seemed excruciatingly long, as she was forced to converse at least half the time with the gentleman on her other side, who was the husband of Lady Amelia and the host of that evening’s gathering. He insisted on describing a fox hunt he’d held at his country estate in exhaustive detail, complete with every person who was on the guest list (many of whom Bella did not know), what was served for dinner each evening, and an incomprehensible explanation of the chase the fox had led them on.

She was finally freed from the table to retire to the drawing room, and after a short time spent alone with the other ladies—who reminded Bella of cats prowling for the best spot from which to leap upon their quarry—the gentlemen rejoined them.

Lord Brooke was the juiciest prey and was quite literally pawed by a few ladies as he made his way into the room, but he was eventually able to extricate himself and reach Bella’s side. Unfortunately, a few of the other gentlemen had the same goal he did, so he wasn’t able to have her all to himself.

The group surrounding Bella was talking of nothing in particular and laughing at the same, when their conversation was abruptly interrupted by Lady Dutton announcing that Lady Isabelle should play for them.

“For she has had the best instructors and is quite ‘professhent,’?” Lady Dutton said. (Bella thought she must have confused the words “professional” and “proficient” and was glad Issie wasn’t there to be mortified by her aunt’s mistake.)

“We would be happy to have Lady Isabelle perform for us,” Lady Amelia said. And she said this very sincerely, because if Lady Belle were playing the pianoforte, the gentlemen would be forced to leave her side and perhaps pay attention to another of the young ladies present, such as her daughter.

“I beg your pardon, Aunt, but you are mistaken. I do not play at all well, and do not wish to subject those present to my poor efforts,” Bella said with a smile that appeared carefree to those watching but covered a very real fear that she was about to be unmasked.

It was true that Issie had had the best of instructors and was very skilled at playing the pianoforte, but Bella was not. Bella’s aunt had not permitted her to pursue the accomplishments of a genteel young lady, such as sketching, or watercolors, or learning to play the pianoforte or harp. If anyone deigned to marry Bella, which Lady Strickland didn’t think at all likely, it would probably be a country vicar or a member of the professional classes, who couldn’t afford a wife with expensive hobbies. So she had been encouraged to pursue her talent at sewing and had even been taught to cook, as her aunt thought those were the extent of the skills Bella would need in the bleak future Lady Strickland had envisioned for her.

Bella had snuck into the music room on occasion and Issie had taught her a few simple tunes, and Bella had also sung while Issie accompanied her; but she had never performed in front of an audience and felt she would merely embarrass herself if she did so now. And it would become very clear to everyone if she attempted the few simple songs she’d learned that she was neither a professional nor at all proficient.

But Lady Dutton was not going to accept Bella’s refusal without argument. “Nonsense, Isabelle. There’s no need for false modesty,” she said sternly.

And then Lord Brooke spoke up. “It has been many years since I last heard you play, Lady Belle, but I remember being quite impressed. Especially as you were only fourteen at the time.”

Bella had not realized that Issie had performed for him when she’d visited Bluffton Castle, but she could very well imagine Lady Strickland insisting that Issie do so. It was the one thing about Issie that she had taken pride in.

“I am very sorry,” Bella said, her smile no longer in evidence, “but I do not wish to perform this evening.”

There was a pall cast over the gathering at Bella’s refusal, and she lowered her head in embarrassment. But then the taciturn Sir Roger unexpectedly came to her rescue. “I haven’t got an ear for music, myself,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. “If we’re going to play something, how about cards?” Since there were other avid card players in the group, his suggestion was taken up with enthusiasm and a few tables were formed.

While this was happening, Lord Brooke leaned closer to Bella and quietly apologized. “I’m sorry, I should have realized you didn’t want to play. I thought you just needed encouragement to do so.”

“It is perfectly all right,” Bella answered, but her expression gave the lie to her remark. Lord Brooke had very rarely seen her when she wasn’t in a cheerful mood, and he realized that for some reason she was highly disturbed. He thought it strange that she was able to brush off the far more embarrassing incident with the button and its resulting caricature with a smile, even laughter, but that a request to play the pianoforte had caused her such distress. He wondered if she associated such a command with her mother and it brought back painful memories.

He realized she must have been more scarred by her childhood than he had previously thought. She had been very successful at hiding her hurt behind her playful, lively manner, but at this moment, when the mask slipped, he discovered she was far more complex than the vivacious “Lady Belle” she presented to the world. He felt a protective tenderness sweep over him, a desire to shield her from further hurt. But more than anything else he wished that she would lower the guard she’d put up around her. He was aware that she had been holding him at arm’s length the first few weeks of the season, and he thought he had understood why; he had been unsure, as well, if he wanted the commitment that a serious courtship inevitably resulted in. He also didn’t like the idea of fulfilling their mothers’ wishes for them, even though both women were dead and gone. His greatest fear was that she would reject him for a similar reason; that she would marry someone like that handsome doctor, in a belated and futile attempt to rebel against the expectations her mother had had for her.

The tea tray arrived and she asked him if he’d like a cup, and he was relieved that she was looking a little less woebegone, though he did see a tinge of apprehension in her gaze when she met his eyes, and he hoped he wasn’t the one who had caused it.

“Why don’t I get you a cup,” he suggested, and her lovely smile made a brief reappearance. Lord Brooke was actually relieved when Mr. Peckham stepped forward to take his seat after he left to walk over to the tea tray, as he did not consider Peckham a serious rival for Bella’s affections, and thought his jovial, undemanding company was likely just what she needed.

As long as the idiot didn’t drop anything on her, like the contents of the sloshing cup of hot tea he was presently holding.

Bella was sure that Lord Brooke must be suspicious of her after her refusal to play for the company that evening, but on the way home she found that it was Lady Dutton who demanded an explanation.

“I do not understand. Why did you claim that you were not able to play? I have heard you practicing since you came to town. And your mother told me you were well trained.”

“That was my cousin you heard playing,” Bella said.

“Where did she learn to play so well? Surely, your mother didn’t pay for her to have lessons?”

“Of course she didn’t,” Bella said, irritated by the way Lady Dutton said the word “her,” as if even making a reference to Bella caused a bad taste in her mouth. “Lady Strickland—my mother—would have never wasted a penny on the lowly child she so despised.”

“Well? How did she learn, then?” Lady Dutton asked, not at all conscious of the sarcasm in Bella’s remark.

Bella sighed. “She must be naturally talented, I suppose,” she said, turning to gaze unseeingly out at the gaslit streets and saying very little for the rest of the short journey.

It was long past midnight when they returned home, and normally Bella would not have thought of waking Issie so late, but she was too upset to exercise such consideration. That moment when the entire party had turned to look at her and she’d had to admit that she could not play the pianoforte had been far more humiliating than Mr. Peckham’s ridiculous behavior during their dance or that silly caricature. She had been so sure that she was on the verge of being branded a liar and a cheat in front of Lord Brooke and her other gentlemen friends, the few people whom she’d met whose opinion mattered to her.

What excuse could she give, what explanation could she offer, if she was suddenly and publicly exposed? At least if she went to Lord Brooke and confessed the truth he would be more inclined to listen to her explanation of the reasons she’d tricked him.

And even if her fear of discovery was exaggerated, she still found the experience humiliating, as it plainly illustrated that she did not fit in with those of Lord Brooke’s class. She had not been trained in the accomplishments considered essential for a young lady of quality. She was a fraud in more ways than one. Her very real feelings of inferiority, feelings she’d fought her entire life, threatened to overwhelm her. She felt as common and ill-bred as her aunt had always told her she was.

So she went upstairs and into Issie’s bedchamber, carrying a lighted candle to her cousin’s bedside, before gently shaking her by the shoulder when the light alone failed to wake her.

“Issie, wake up.”

It took a few minutes before Issie was finally sitting up in bed and coherent enough to ask: “What is the matter? Why did you wake me?”

“I think we should end this, Issie. I want to tell Lord Brooke the truth and stop pretending to be you.”

“What?” Issie asked, shaking her head a little, as if to clear it. “I don’t understand. Why now? The visit is almost at an end; we have less than three weeks left! You can’t confess now, Bella. If you told Lord Brooke, you’d have to tell Lady Dutton as well; it would be a complete disaster. And it makes no sense; we had planned to just go home at the end of the season without anyone having ever been the wiser. Why confess to something when we do not have to?”

“Because I was almost exposed this evening,” Bella said, and explained what had happened that had so alarmed her.

“You are making far too much of it. Yes, if this had happened at the very start of our visit, there would be reason for your fears. But we’ve been here for two months. Everyone, including Lord Brooke and Lady Dutton, has accepted you as Lady Isabelle, even after meeting me. They are not going to suddenly become suspicious at this late date.”

Bella knew that everything Issie had said was true, but she did not feel like being rational, she was so very tired of it all. She wanted to meet Lord Brooke with nothing between them, to know, beyond any doubt, that he wanted to court her, not Issie. She wanted to be able to have a conversation with him without having to carefully consider each word before she said it. She wanted him to fall in love with Arabella Grant, not Lady Isabelle.

She was also tired of the endless balls and entertainments when she heard herself announced as “Lady Isabelle” and saw all heads turn her way. Popularity and adulation meant less than nothing when you weren’t sure why you were receiving it and you didn’t believe yourself deserving of it.

But she supposed Issie was correct and that it would be foolish, even disastrous, not to keep their secret a mere two and a half weeks longer.

“Besides,” Issie continued, “I am not ready to tell Dr. Jordan the truth. He is taking me to Lackington’s Temple of the Muses bookshop tomorrow and has promised to show me other London sights, and I don’t want to do anything to scare him away. He says Ackermann’s is where the idle rich go to see and be seen, but that Lackington’s has the most books for the best value, and he wants to purchase a new series of engravings of the human skeleton. Do you think he’d be offended if I offered to pay for it?”

Bella thought that he probably would, based on his comment about the “idle rich.” She also wondered if Issie would have a more difficult time of it than she’d imagined when it came to confessing her true identity to the doctor. Overcome by dejection all of a sudden, Bella let out a heavy sigh and Issie eyed her in concern.

“Bella,” Issie said, reaching out to grasp her cousin’s hand, her expression serious, “I do apologize. I know that you did not want to embark on this deception from the first, and that I’ve taken advantage of your good nature. I don’t know why I’m so weak and you’re so strong; especially since my mother treated you just as badly as she did me, if not more so. Maybe you inherited courage from your parents. Lord knows they would have needed it to defy our family like they did.” Bella was alarmed to see tears well up in Issie’s eyes. “But I think my mother broke something in me, Bella. I really don’t think I could have gone out into society, feeling as I do about myself.”

“Issie, you can’t believe the things she told you!” Bella said, though one part of her brain recognized the irony of telling Issie not to do something she’d just been doing herself. “She’s dead now, and may God forgive me for saying this, but I’m glad she’s gone. Everything she told you was cruel and—and totally wrong ! You are so intelligent and pretty and talented. It’s one of the reasons I hate pretending to be you; because I don’t possess half of the talents that you do. Believe me, Issie, not her. Would I love you so much if you weren’t wonderful?”

Now both girls had tears running down their faces, and Issie sniffed, but in a skeptical manner. “I think you decided to love me when you were three, and nothing I did could ever change your mind.”

“I was very precocious and a great judge of character,” Bella said, grinning through her tears, before she sat down on the bed next to Issie and hugged her. “It’s all right, Issie. I will see this pretense out till the end. But I want you to promise me that you will try your best not to keep replaying your mother’s words in your head, or give any credence to what she said to you. She’s gone. Don’t let her continue to control you.”

Issie pulled away from Bella and wiped her face with the back of her hand, before quoting solemnly: “?‘The dead know not any thing…for the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, and their hatred, and their envy, is now perished; neither have they any more a portion for ever in any thing that is done under the sun.’?”

“Exactly,” Bella said, tenderly pushing a strand of hair out of Issie’s face. “Shakespeare?”

“No,” Issie said, surprised. “It’s from the Bible!”

The two girls broke into giggles, and there was still a slight tremor in Bella’s voice when she said, “Well then, ‘Amen’ to that!”